


Sentry Duty

by Dustbunnygirl



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M, Spoilerish bits for End of Days and Fragments.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-02
Updated: 2009-01-02
Packaged: 2018-08-09 10:16:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7797904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dustbunnygirl/pseuds/Dustbunnygirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Butler, janitor, watchdog.  He can live with that.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentry Duty

**Author's Note:**

> For Halftime1030, from the [FanFic Prompt Meme](http://dustbunnygirl.livejournal.com/270181.html) \- "#29. Protective Character."

**Title** : Sentry Duty  
 **Author Name** : dustbunnygirl  
 **Characters/Pairings** : Ianto Jones (Torchwood), hints of Jack/Ianto  
 **Summary** : _Butler, janitor, watchdog. He can live with that._  
 **Rating** : PG-13, for alluding to naughty things and using foul language, but not actually mentioning or doing the naughty things.  
 **Disclaimer** : If I owned Jack and Ianto (or Torchwood at all), there would be much less Gwen, much more naked time.  
 **Warnings** : Spoilerish bits for End of Days and Fragments.  
 **Word Count** : 853  
 **Author's Notes** : For Halftime1030, from the [FanFic Prompt Meme](http://dustbunnygirl.livejournal.com/270181.html) \- "#29. Protective Character."  
 **Betas** : mithfeniel

Ianto can remember when his proposed list of job duties included “butler, janitor, and watchdog.” That night in the warehouse, he would’ve agreed to be the Captain’s personal shoeshine boy if it got him into Torchwood 3 and helped him save Lisa. He never thought the last one in that list would ever really apply.

Until moments like this. A sewer tunnel, somewhere beneath Cardiff well past midnight. Nothing but quiet and cold and the smell of blood and death lingering on the air, wet ground beneath him as he sits and waits. There’s a dead Weevil ten feet in front of him with a perfectly round, black hole in the center of its forehead. The gun in his hand is still warm from firing the shot. And he doesn’t regret it.

Jack is lifeless and cold behind him, situated between a damp wall and Ianto’s back. The gaping hole where his throat used to be stopped bleeding awhile ago. As he bent to straighten Jack’s coat, settle him more comfortably on the ground, Ianto thought he saw some of the skin starting to grow back. Shouldn’t be long now. He keeps telling himself that. “Shouldn’t be long, now. Jack will be back soon, then we can get out of this cold, godforsaken place and wash the blood away and fuck until we’re both convinced he’s alive again.” By his count, he’s repeated that mantra 27 times. At ten seconds a pop, that’s four and a half minutes. And Jack hasn’t so much as twitched.

“Still waiting?” a voice asks in his ear, a soft Welsh lilt that jerks him out of his thoughts almost violently. He touches the earpiece warily, as if he half expects it to bite. _Not as alone as I thought,_ he thinks, and it almost brings a smile.

“Still waiting.” Ianto stares straight ahead, searching the mouth of the tunnel for any flicker of movement. “You know Jack. Always running late.”

“I’ve got no room to talk in that department,” Gwen says, a forced cheeriness to her tone that reminds Ianto of family funerals and compassionate aunts sputtering platitudes before toddling off to the buffet. “D’you want me to…”

“No, it’s all right, Gwen.” Ianto cuts his mike for a second, long enough to sigh. “We need someone there to watch the Rift monitor,” he says once his comm is live again. What he doesn’t say, can’t say, is that she’s not welcome. That part of him has never forgiven her for denying him the chance to do this after Abbadon, when they all thought Jack was really gone. To sit with him, hold his hand, say goodbye if that’s what had to be done. To make sure he didn’t wake up alone.

This, he tells himself, is one task that won’t get put on a rota.

“Shouldn’t be too much longer now anyway,” he says instead. Then, to cut off the inevitable “If you’re sure…” he asks, “Any more blips on the radar I should be aware of?”

“Just the one, and he’s been well and truly sorted, I’d say.”

“Let me know if that situation changes.” Ianto shifts, seeking comfort where he knows none exists but looks for it anyway. His grip on his gun doesn’t loosen. His ten-second mantra doesn’t falter.

At just past the ten minute mark, he hears Jack draw in a shocked lungful of air.

“I know you claim to need your beauty sleep, sir,” Ianto says after Jack’s had a moment to adjust, to breathe normally and remember where and when he is, “but there are less dramatic ways of squeezing in a nap.”

“You know me, Ianto.” Jack reaches for the hand Ianto offers out to him, lets him help his Captain to his unsteady feet. “All about the drama.”

“Well aware,” a duet offers, one part in the tunnel, the other over the ear piece. Jack shakes his head.

“So unloved,” he says, and Ianto snorts.

“Clean yourself up,” Ianto says, handing over a handkerchief and pointing to the new skin smeared red at the Captain’s throat. Then he tucks the gun back into his holster and takes two steps to the Weevil. It’s already started to stink and he knows it’s going to weigh a ton. “We’ll be at the Hub in ten, maybe fifteen, Gwen. Just need to get our new friend loaded.”

“Be waiting for you then,” she says, and wisely leaves the channel.

Ianto doesn’t know that Jack’s moved until a hand rests, flat palmed, between his shoulder blades. The man’s been dead ten minutes, but a simple touch from him still leaves Ianto too warm. “Ianto…”

“Shouldn’t take long, between the two of us. Worst of it’s going to be trying to get him to the SUV without being seen.”

Now it’s two hands, one on each shoulder, turning him away from the corpse. Jack’s eyes hold a tenderness that is beyond rare. A weariness, too, that is less so.

“Thank you,” he whispers, before dipping his head to leave a quick kiss on Ianto’s lips.

Butler, janitor, watchdog. He can live with that.


End file.
